Cowboy Casanova
by Elle Blessingway
Summary: Everyone says that women are the objectified sex, but Zach knows differently.


**Title:** Cowboy Casanova (1/1)  
**Author:** Elle, aka **elle_blessing**  
**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Characters:** Zacharias Smith/Astoria Greengrass  
**Rating:** Adult  
**Warnings:** Rated for sexual content and themes.  
**Words:** 1050  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is JKR's. No copyright infringement intended, and no money is being made.  
**Author's Notes:** This was actually a bit of an experiment. When I originally had this idea, it was from Astoria's point of view and I wasn't planning on writing it. Then I thought that it was vivid enough that I _should_ write it down, but decided to write it from Zach's point of view. Not only have I never really written Zach before, but I ended up writing this in the present tense. I don't do present tense, but it seemed right for Zach, and for this piece. Also, thanks so much for beta'ing this for me, **mugglechump**!  
**Context Notes:** Both characters are written at Harry Potter RPG, **pinksheep_wench**, LiveJournal. Zach is based on Jane!**numbaby**'s characterization of him (thanks for letting me pick your brain about him, love!). Astoria is my girl.

**Summary:** Everyone says that women are the objectified sex, but Zach knows differently.

.

Everyone says that women are the objectified sex, but Zach knows differently. Women routinely undress him with their eyes. The tips of their fingers linger just a little too long when they touch him unnecessarily. Wanton invitations darken their gazes and purr from lips painted to entice.

They want him, use him. He fucking loves it.

Sex is sex, is sex; up against a wall, over the edge of a desk, at the back of a club, in an alleyway. The birds come in all colors and sizes, and they all scream for him. The life of objectification is a good one. The women are plentiful, the sex abundant, and the commitment nonexistent.

Astoria Greengrass though … Zach can't figure her out. Maybe because the first time, he sought her out and not the other way around. Still, she's like all the others. She now seeks him out just the same, wants what they all want. And yet she's always reluctant. She appears out of nowhere only to seemingly lose whatever purpose brought her; good sense, he's sure she calls it. She averts her eyes, makes excuses about how she should really be going, then blushes.

It's the blush that always makes him decide _he_ wants her. He knows she's no ingénue, but that one thing sets her apart from the others. She wants him, but she feels self-conscious about that want. He likes that she doesn't assume that want means have. He likes that her lips part when he grabs her wrist before she can skitter off, that she shivers. He likes that she still tries to insist she should go even though they both know it's the last thing she wants.

Zach likes that she sees him as a person despite her baser urges to objectify him like all the others, that every time she appears it's a war writ in her features, her words, everything about her, to treat him with respect even though she wants something that isn't respectful at all.

It makes him want to unravel her until that want spills from her lips, makes her shudder and pant his name over and over.

The others leave their marks with nails and teeth, scream to various gods, writhe and demand, and sometimes beg if he wishes it of them. They do not cling to him, do not cradle his face in tiny hands and kiss him as if kisses actually matter. He's found that snogs are not necessary for good sex, but with Astoria, she has to have them. It's personal, and Zach likes that, too. He shouldn't; sex is not personal, not for him. (But maybe it's just nice to know that for one woman, he's not an object. Maybe that's just sentimental shite. Zach does not think overly much about these things.)

Still, when he's moving in her harder than he knows he should because she's so tiny and delicate, he can't help but think that he could get used to this.

It only takes a single touch with intent to make her flush. It only takes the barest whisper of his fingers down the column of her throat to make her eyes go dark. He doesn't even have to touch her to make her breathing quicken, only rid her of her personal space and fill it with the heat of his body. When he bends over her and breaths in the scent of her, something so soft you must be close enough to lick her skin, her dark lashes flutter and she whispers his name.

It's not 'please', or 'now', or any other variation that women make known what they want of him. It is his name, and in it are questions and wants and other things that he can hear but not decipher. He likes fast and hard and satisfying, but this is heady as well. He knows that she is only with him.

When he closes the tiny distance, brushes his lips to hers, she comes alive. A little sound escapes as if she was waiting for permission, and then her small hands cup his face, slide into his hair and grip. This is when the soft kitten sinks her claws in, pulls him to her and can't help but to ask for more. It is when he twines an arm around her waist and pulls her flush to him, feels the heat of her through the silk of her dress. This is when time speeds up.

He wishes it didn't.

His shirt is gone, and so is her dress. Her skin is hot, soft in a way that only women of luxury can achieve, and the slide of it against his is maddeningly addictive. His hand grips her thigh as their bodies meet and he knows he will leave bruises. She clings to him, tries to muffle her whimpers and gasps into the side of his neck. She is tight, and Zach knows that he is the only one who has tasted her recently.

He likes this, though it shouldn't matter.

It is when she is close, when he can feel that she is about to fall apart, that she looks up to him with wide, dark eyes. "_Zach_." It is all she can manage, but he knows what she wants, needs. His hand tangles in her hair and he claims her lips even as he changes the angle of their joining and fills her completely.

He swallows her screams because it is what she wants; to keep it here, between them. She meets him on every roll of hips, trembles for it all, holds onto him as tightly as she can, and then her lips are moving against his boldly. She nips and sucks, and takes and demands, and moves with him, and he can feel that every shudder of her body is her pleasure, over and over, but she pulls at his hair and nips at his lips, and a panting breath is, "Zach, Zach," and that is when he comes in her, bites down on her lip and tastes blood.

She does not immediately pull away. Neither does he.

Zach wonders why.


End file.
